Beginnings, Middles, Ends
by IronicNarwhal
Summary: Three stories all summarizing Angel and Collins' life together; from beginning, to middle, to end.
1. Beginnings

A/N: This is an entry for fanfic100. It's a live journal community where you write 100 stories based on one-word prompts. It's totally awesome and I have the only RENT claim right now. I'd like to see some of you do it – I know you're all awesome writers. Wow, I sounded a helluva lot like my English teacher right there…

I'm probably gonna push the first three prompts – beginnings, middles, ends – into one chapter story. I'm planning on posting most of my stories I write for the challenge (My claim is Angel/Collins) but some of them I probably won't, because undoubtedly I'll come to one or two where I do a sucky job just to get it done. But if you want to see them as I get them done, including the ones I don't post here, the Live Journal account I'm using to post them is Keffer94. :D

Disclaimer: Jonathon Larson (RIP!) owns all!! I'm just playing with them, but promise to return them to the toy box when I'm done playing. Though I can't ensure they'll be in their original conditions…especially Roger…("No molesting Roger, Lynn!") ALRIGHT ALREADY! I ALREADY PROMISED! GET OFF MY BACK! God…

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Beginnings

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I stood on the corner of Avenue A and East Eleventh, staring blankly at the shimmering street, under the awning hanging off the side of some building in the alley I was huddled in. The rain was still pouring down, as it had been that morning when I'd been sitting in this same spot; drumming on my pickle tub and trying to work my way to a half-way decent dinner. That was, until some crazy woman in a big black limousine had pulled up and beckoned me into her monster of a vehicle.

Having grown up in Spanish Harlem, I was wary of anyone who drove up and wanted me to come closer. But the woman had seemed no threat; she had to have been at least sixty, with high, jutting cheekbones and a large forehead, unnaturally stretched skin covering her face. She'd either had some seriously botched plastic surgery or had just come back from a botox injection.

However, the lady (whom told me I could call her Mrs. O in a tone that very bluntly said I was barely worthy of calling her anything, in her opinion) had turned out to be a threat of sorts. Not to me, but to a little dog – an Akita named Evita – whom lived in the apartment next to hers, and apparently made a habit of barking at ungodly hours of the morning and night. Her request of me was simple: kill the dog, get 1000 dollars. Later she'd tacked on another five hundred when she remembered she still needed her tree trimmed and figured she might as well have me do that as well.

Afterwards she'd dropped me right back on the corner she'd picked me up on, despite my asking her several times if she'd mind dropping me off at my apartment, that it was only a block further than the street corner we were headed to anyway. She'd completely ignored me, and I had to say I was insulted, even if I hadn't expected much from a wealthy lady, being a street bum and everything. Though I couldn't bring myself to inform her of her rudeness – even when she literally shoved me out the door of her limo. The woman had just made me fifteen hundred dollars richer. My mama taught me right and one of her teachings was that you didn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

So here I was on Avenue A, trying to make sense of what I'd just done. Or maybe accept it. It was hard to tell – I wasn't really sure there was a difference. It wasn't the most horrible thing I'd ever done. That apartment hadn't been bought with a street drummer's wages and I hadn't gotten AIDS from drumming, either. Let's just put it that way. But I'd put a stop to that several years ago. As illegal as prostitution was, prostitution with HIV/AIDS was twice as much, I was pretty sure. And I wouldn't wish that disease upon anyone.

Then I thought about killing that poor puppy dog. Granted, it was annoying, but it was a puppy. With a little training and TLC that problem would have been gone. I guess I tried to rationalize by saying I didn't really see the reality of it before it was too late – the poor thing had already tried to lunge at me from the opposing balcony, and hadn't made it. I'd hopped up and ran pell-mell out of that place the second I'd seen that little cream ball of fur shooting towards the ground, twenty-three stories below. Mrs. O had caught up with me in the hallway, yanking on my arm harshly and pulling me to an abrupt halt. She demanded what was wrong with me and if I thought I could get away with money I hadn't earned. I'd forgotten until that point that I'd also promised to trim her tree.

Come to think of it, that might be why she'd dropped me off in the still-pouring rain. Teach me a lesson I'd already had drilled into me by Mama; "Don't take what you haven't earned, Angelo…" She hadn't wanted her baby boy to turn out like all the boys running around the neighborhood at the time. What I had turned into wasn't that, but I had the feeling she had yet to decide if it was worse.

My thoughts were going a mile a minute, linking themselves to each other in ways that didn't make sense to even me. I decided to just try and get it out of my mind, sitting down on an overturned wastepaper basket and beginning to drum. This was what I did to calm myself down; and it was raining much to hard for me to risk even the short walk back home. I'd wait it out and see if it cleared up. If not I'd walk with my pickle tub shoved over my head and take a warm bath the second I got home. Come to think of it, a warm bath sounded nice anyway.

Thankfully, the rain started to let up after a few minutes and I started finishing up my beat. A girl walked by and flipped a coin onto my pickle tub. I gave her a thank-you and wished her a merry Christmas. But my beat hadn't been finished – I'd feel weird if I didn't finish it. I didn't know why that was, but it just always happened.

But I wasn't destined to finish it, for something from the alley situated cattycorner to mine made a loud, wheezing noise. After a few seconds of no sound I started to think I'd imagined it, but then the sound rang out again. A cough. Hmm…

I hopped up, gathering both drumsticks into one hand, shoving my tub under my arm and starting towards the alley. "Hello? Anyone there?"

More coughing in reply; someone had to be down there, and they were either sick or hurt really bad. As I got closer, I recognized the profile of a man. Pretty young-looking; his forehead was smooth and his cheeks full, free of any of the lines an old hacking homeless person would have had. He'd been in a struggle of some sort. Since this was an alleyway in the middle of the East Village, I had to figure a mugging.

"Oh my Gosh! Are you okay, honey?!" I sped up my feet, reaching him in a matter of seconds. I could see the blood on his dark face, his hands cradling his nose and lips. I squatted down next to him to get a better look.

"'M 'friad so…" he muttered, pulling his hand away to look at the amount of blood on it, gulping and grimacing at the taste of his own blood. Poor thing.

"Did they get anything, or…?" I said, placing my hand on his knee to comfort him. Until I was able to assert how much damage had been done, I couldn't really do much more for him than tha

"Didn't really have anything for them to get," He sighed. "Had no money on me, but they got my stuff…my coat." He sighed, yanking the torn jacket sleeve off his arm. "Well…you missed a sleeve…" he grumbled bitterly while tossing the sleeve in the gutter.

Bitter really wasn't a good look on him. Under all that blood was a gorgeous face, I could tell. I loved his cheeks – very high and rather large. They'd puff up a lot if it ever occurred to him to smile.

I took the pink handkerchief out of my pocket, holding it out to him. He shook his head, something akin to alarm flashing in his eyes. I was kind of hurt that he didn't trust me – I hadn't used this cloth for anything but wiping rain water off my forehead. Then again, I guess you couldn't win them all at a glance.

"It's okay," I assured. "I haven't used this."

The way he looked at me, I realized I must have misunderstood the cause of his panic. But he cautiously reached out and grabbed the cloth, running it over his bloodied face and revealing a little more of his dark skin. "Thanks."

"Hell, it's Christmas Eve," I sighed, patting his knee. He winced. Oops. I looked down and saw my hand was over a rip in his jeans. I yanked my hand away, apologizing quickly. My legs were getting tired from kneeling for so long so I overturned my pickle tub and sat upon it, awkwardly informing, "Uhm…I'm Angel."

"Angel?" He asked, taking his face out of the rag and glancing at me. He seemed to be taking me in for the first time and got a look on his face that said he liked what he saw. I blushed just a bit, turning my head down in a coy move. All he did was smile a bit and folded the rag, placing it in his own pocket. I guess he figured I didn't want it back and he was right. "Indeed. You're an angel of the first degree."

There were many ways I could take that and all were good. I smiled. Call me cocky but I was pretty sure he was flirting with me. Again, I asked in my coy way – which had become more of a façade than anything – if he had a name.

"Friends call me Collins," he told me. "Tom Collins."

"You're kidding," I giggled.

"Nope," he sighed, trying to stand up.

"Do you want to come up to my apartment?" I asked, pointing a window that shone with the lights from a Christmas tree. "That's it right there. I can get you cleaned up?"

"Uhm…sure," he agreed. "Nice, erm, tree."

I grinned and helped him up, saying, "Let's get a band-aid for your knee. I'll change – there's a Life Support meeting at nine thirty that I want to get to."

"Life Support?" he questioned, recognition in his voice.

I sighed. Why'd I have to open my big mouth? He'd probably run for the hills now. Okay, out with it. "Yes; that's right. This body provides a comfortable home for the Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome."

"As does mine," he said, shock in his voice.

That wasn't happy news but I couldn't help but grin. That meant so many good things for me and him. I simpered, "Ooh…we'll get along fine."

He giggled a bit as we continued down the street.

"How about you stay with me for a bit after I get you all fixed up?" I asked with a smile. "We can get you a new coat, have a bite…make a night." I murmured, "I'm flush…" turning towards him and leaning into him as much as I dared. If I came on too strong I might just freak him out. We did not want that; nonono.

"I hate to disappoint you, but my friends are waiting." Excuses, excuses. His face held no sighs of panic, as if I was starting to come on too strong for his liking; just shyness, a blush painting his cheeks.

I grinned and stepped closer. "You're cute when you blush." I flicked his nose and added, "The more the merrier, honey. And Collins? I _do not_ take no."

He laughed a bit as I continued to help him up to my apartment.

Up in my apartment, I directed him towards the couch and told him to sit down. The thing was basically a piece of shit – it was missing a leg so rocked forwards and to the left when someone sat on it. The cushions were all crappy and sagged insanely. But it was better than nothing.

He sat on the sofa and I sat on the coffee table in front of him. The coffee table was lower than the cushions, sagging included, and his legs were long so I was practically in-between his legs. I blushed a bit as I bent over his knee to check the damage. Ripped open his jeans a bit more to get a better look, apologizing for further damaging what must have been one of the only articles of clothing he could call his own at the moment. Not that the things were really salvageable anyway – ripped and bloodied with deep, inset dirt stains from sitting in the alleyway – but still. Mama taught me manors too, by the way.

He assured me he would trash them as soon as he got to his friend's place and had his hands on some of his own clothing.

I sighed. "Honey, this doesn't look good. A band-aid's just not gonna do it…I've got some mercurochrome around here somewhere. Let me go get it. Take your pants off too if you've got anything on under them. That'll make this a lot easier."

He nodded as I walked off into the bathroom. I heard shuffling and knew he was removing his pants.

In the bathroom, I squatted down in front of the sink and opened the cabinet underneath, pulling out a large blue basket. It was a going away gift from my mom – a first-aid kit packed to the brim with miniature bottles and packets of everything; from decongestants to ointments to disinfectants. It took a minute of rooting through the thing to find the tiny bottle of mercurochrome, and a few more seconds to locate a few cotton balls. Then I shoved the basket back into the cabinet and went back towards the living room.

He was still on the couch, though this time only in his boxers. His shirt had been removed as well to reveal a few nasty bruises and more cuts.

"So where do you come from?" I asked to distract him from the pain of the mercurochrome. It was nasty stuff; alcohol based with an intense bite. I hated using it on myself.

"Boston," he said, gritting his teeth a bit, gripping the cushions loosely and keeping eye contact with me. "MIT. I had a teaching job there."

"Had?" I asked as I continued dabbing, trying to gently coax a bit of dirt out of his wound. His thigh twitched with every brush of the cotton ball. I made a hushing noise and caressed his hand.

"Uhm, yeah, I got fired recently," he muttered.

"What do you teach?" I inquired. I added, "Almost done, honey…"

"Computer-aged philosophy," he said.

"Hmm…sounds interesting," I lied. If the subject didn't involve making something, I usually wasn't interested.

"It is," he said. "It's even more interesting when the kids pay attention."

"You know, you look a little young to be a college professor," I noticed.

"I skipped two grades and graduated early," Collins said. "I know more than I really should about computers and I've always kind of known a lot. School was pretty easy for me."

I smiled, finally getting the pesky piece of grit out of the cut. I dabbed a little more to make sure everything was clean then bandaged it up. "There we go; all done. Want me to kiss it?" I giggled.

He shrugged. "Sure."

I blinked, but did as I proposed. When I looked back up, I saw his shining eyes and glanced down at his knee again, back up at his face. There was a bit of a blush under the chocolate skin and he'd leaned almost imperceptivity closer. He reached out to run his finger down my cheek. I shivered at his touch, the caress going right to my groin as the front of my jeans filled out a bit. It'd been much too long.

We leaned in, stalling a bit just as our faces became only a millimeter apart. I tipped my head to avoid bumping noses and pressed my lips to his.

There were two or three gentle kisses, our eyes fluttered closed. Then I pulled back and whispered, "Collins… You do realize we barely know each other, right?"

"So?" he asked. I couldn't agree more, but someone had to be the voice of reason.

"Should we do this?" I asked.

"I can't think of a reason why not," Collins said. "We're both dying Angel; no getting around it. Maybe we should cheat death and have a hell of a time while we're still alive."

I smiled. "I like that idea." And leaned in again, migrating over to the sofa to sit with him.

This wasn't just for the hell of it. This was the start of something new and wonderful; something beautiful. I could feel the beginning of the rest of my life starting, the old Angel falling away and the new Angel entering that shell. An Angel filled with hope for tomorrow and filled with love for the present. For everyone and everything. For the person sitting right next to me, holding me so gently and lovingly though we'd only just met.

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End Story; Sequel to be Written

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A/N: Subscribe to this story if you want to see the sequel, "Middles" and the last installment, "Ends". Middles and Ends are both rather sad, so be warned. Ends more so than Middles.

Thanks so much for reading!

-Lynn


	2. Middles

A/N: The (rather sad) second installment. :D I hope you guys like it. I know I promise to have this up days ago! But here it is now and that's all that matters, right?

These are technically one-shots, so I decided to use the third person for this one. I'm sorry if I annoy you with the change, but the first person is a lot harder than the third and I can only do it, and do it well, in small doses. :D

Disclaimer: Jonathon Larson (RIP!) owns all!! I'm just playing with them, but promise to return them to the toy box when I'm done playing. Though I can't ensure they'll be in their original conditions…especially Roger…("No molesting Roger, Lynn!") ALRIGHT ALREADY! I ALREADY PROMISED! GET OFF MY BACK! God…

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Middles

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"Happy anniversary, baby."

Collins looked up from grading papers when Angel appeared in front of him, holding a small cupcake between the thumb and index finger of both hands. There was a big number one sticking out of it; blue and almost as big as the cupcake itself. The number one appeared to be a candle, as a burning wick was jutting out of it.

He hadn't even known Angel was home; when he'd arrived at their small apartment that afternoon after a long day of classes, no happy Latina had skipped to him and greeted him hello with a kiss. She must have come in and he didn't hear the door close. Her sudden appearance was a very welcome surprise, but he also noticed her smile wasn't as wide as it should have been.

"It's June," Collins said with furrowed brows.

"June twenty-fourth," Angel corrected. "Exactly six months since we met. Our six-month anniversary." She placed one leg on either side of his knee, lowering herself onto it facing him. Held the cupcake up between their faces. "Make a wish."

He complied with her wishes, blowing gently and extinguishing the candle's small flame. She helped a bit, blowing from the opposite direction to keep the candle from billowing into her face and burning her. After that was done, she murmured, "What'd you wish for?"

"Better students," Collins laughed. He felt it safe to voice the wish; when would that ever happen, honestly? "What about you?" knowing her, it would probably be something like world peace; a cure for AIDS. Or maybe a new sewing machine, come to think of it.

"Can't tell you," Angel whispered. "It won't come true."

Collins nodded in understanding and kissed her forehead.

"So what do you wanna do to celebrate?" Angel inquired, flicking some of the frosting off and into her mouth with the tip of her tongue. Then she set it on the table in favor of wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Shouldn't we save the celebrating for the actual anniversary?" Collins asked. To him, this had kind of just seemed like Angel's small way of reminding him that they'd made it this far. Didn't think she was going to make a big deal out of it.

With a sigh, Angel shook her head and bit her lip, a little whimper issuing from her after a minute. Her face turned red, her face crumpling as though about to cry.

"Angel?" Collins questioned, alarm shooting through him. Why was his baby crying and what could he do to help? "What's wrong? I'm sorry; of course we can celebrate today. I didn't mean to insult you."

Angel shook her head, choking out, "It isn't that…" and pulling a sheet of paper, folded in half two times, out of her pocket. Wordlessly, she handed it to Collins as the first tears ran down her face. Collins wiped them away with one hand while taking the paper with the other. He opened the paper and found it to be some sort of medical report. He didn't really understand it all that much; just that it obviously meant something bad.

Angel explained, "I had a doctor's appointment today. They did a couple of blood tests on me."

Fear gripped Collins' heart.

"My…my T-cells are all but nonexistent, Collins," Angel whispered. "I'm not gonna make it to Thanksgiving, let alone Christmas."

"How long?" Collins said thickly, his throat starting to ache as he tried to hold back tears.

"Two, maybe three months," Angel said. "I've got basically no immune system. I'm gonna start getting sick. And I'm not gonna get better."

"We'll keep you from getting sick," Collins said. "We'll keep things clean, and…" no; this couldn't happen. There had to be a way. There just had to be some way to prolong his lover's time on Earth. He began to weep right along with her, tears clouding his vision until she was just a blob of black and caramel and pink in front of him.

"We can try but I just don't think that'll work," Angel whispered. She didn't want to die as much as Collins didn't want her to. But she just found no way to avoid it.

"No, don't do that, Angel," Collins insisted. "Don't give up. Please. You've gotta stay hopeful. Tell yourself you'll get through this and you will. Please baby, I can't loose you now!" She was his life; his everything. He'd die without her.

Angel began sobbing, burrowing into him. "I'm sorry, Collins…I love you so much…I'm so sorry…"

Collins tightened his arms around her, placing his face in her wig and simply crying. He would not let this happen. She would exceed the expectations, if he had anything to say about it. She'd see that first anniversary. And the one after that. And the one after that. She'd live to see a cure and they'd get old together. Die at an appropriate age, after they'd lived their whole lives. He refused to believe that the middle had already come and gone, and they were approaching the end.

She was too vibrant, too lively, too _there_ for life to just be taken away from her like that. And he wouldn't stand for it. He refused to let God call this angel back yet.

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End Story; Last Installment Coming Up

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A/N: That was really short, but it was difficult to write. Anymore would have been overkill and any less wouldn't have been satisfying. Brace yourselves for the last one.

-Lynn


	3. Ends

A/N: I correct what I said in the first chapter; the journal I am using for posting my fanfic100 is Kendal94. Sorry for the confusion if anyone actually did try to find me (which I doubt) but I don't use that account a lot and I couldn't remember what I named it. :D Sorry. Now on with the incredibly sad final installment. You know I promised myself that I would never write a death fic? Eh…

Disclaimer: Jonathon Larson is a genius. Jonathon Larson owns RENT. I am not a genius. Therefore I am not Jonathon Larson. Therefore I do not own RENT.

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Ends

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**

"Collins, sweetheart…water?"

Collins scrambled quickly to get Angel's cup of water off the side table and hold the straw up to her chapped, dry lips. She took a few tiny sips, coughed as she swallowed, and smiled at him in thanks before settling back down on the white hospital bed she'd been in for two weeks.

Angel had defied the odds, but not by much. Four months after she'd given that devastating news to Collins, they sat in a sterile hospital room, praying for Angel's recovery, but only being able to hope for a painless end. Neither was happening, it seemed.

She had come down with pneumonia and at first it had seemed like she might get better. But then she'd collapsed and Collins had realized there was no coming back from it this time. He'd taken Angel to the hospital amid protest, and now sat by her side day and night.

As he thought about it, a few tears slid down his face and into Angel's short natural hair. He was on the bed with her; her skinny, decrepit body clutched in his arms, his head resting atop hers. Her once strong, lean body had become emaciated and frail. It took all her energy just to keep her eyes open; keep in the land of the living and not float away. Though even that was becoming harder and harder.

It would happen any day now, and despite attempts at accepting this and coming to terms with its inevitability, Collins still couldn't believe it. He couldn't accept it. When she was gone, it would be like eternal blackness for him. He'd no longer have a reason to live. He'd just found her and now she was fading away again. He wouldn't be able to live through that.

"Collins," Angel whispered. "Tom…please don't cry."

"Angel…," Collins murmured back. "Baby, don't waste your energy. You'll need it to get better." He was in denial but who cared. Not like it mattered; she was going either way.

Angel gave a wispy laugh; nothing like the light, free laughs Collins was so used to. It was humorless; almost bitter. "We both know that's not going to happen." She slowly moved her head so her sunken eyes looked up into his. "I'm not going to make it through the night, probably. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Collins choked. "Could you at least try, though? It's Roger's birthday tomorrow, and…"

"I'm tired, sweetheart," Angel said. "I'm so tired. I'm tired of being in pain, and I'm tired of misfortune. I'm tired of praying only to have everything go wrong. I'm…I'm tired of life."

"You can't say that, Angel," Collins whispered.

"I love you," Angel said. "But…I can't go on like this."

It sounded almost like she was breaking up with him; not dying. So he said the only thing that sounded appropriate for that scenario. "Angel, don't go baby."

"Not right now," Angel assured. "Later, though…Later will you let me go?"

"I'll try," Collins promised, sobbing and knowing he couldn't even attempt it. "But I can't make any promises."

"Okay," Angel breathed.

They laid or another hour, before Mimi walked in, looking worse for wear. The young Latina looked like she'd aged twenty years in a matter of weeks. Her attire reminded Angel that the whether had chilled since he'd come to the hospital in early October.

"Hi," Mimi murmured. "Angel, are you awake?" It was hard to tell these days; her best friend's eyelids only opened a few millimeters when she could get the energy to actually open them. Other times she would just keep them closed, caught in a floating haze of sickliness and pain and exhaustion.

"Yeah, Chica," Angel rasped. "I'm awake." She slit her eyes open to look at Mimi's outfit, and a ghost of a smile appeared on her face. "Hey, missy; aren't those my favorite tights?"

Mimi looked down at the green tights she was wearing and nodded, a knot in her throat. When she looked back up her eyes were shining and her lips were wobbling. She was blinking more than normal. "Yeah. I, uhm…borrowed them. I'll give them back when I'm done. I just wanted to wear them…" For comfort? As a homage? Would Angel understand that?

"Keep them," Angel said. "I won't be using them anymore."

A noise emanated from Mimi's throat; a strangled sob and whine combination. The tears overflowed and two fat ones ran down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around herself and whispered, "Okay, Angel."

"Okay, Chica," Angel said. "I love you, honey. Tell everyone, okay? I love you all."

"We love you too, Angel," Mimi sobbed. "We love you too." She looked towards the door and said, "I'll see you guys tomorrow. Maureen said she'll drop by."

"Okay," Angel agreed, not wanting to inform Mimi that she wouldn't be around this time tomorrow.

Mimi waved and walked out, still wiping the tears from her eyes.

"…Angel?" Collins asked, alarmed after several minutes of silence from Angel. "Angel?"

"Hmm?" Angel whispered. She'd almost fallen asleep.

"Are you tired?" Collins asked.

"So tired," Angel whispered. "Tom…let me sleep?"

"Okay, Angel," Collins said. "Angel, baby, I love you. I love you so much and I'll never forget you. I love you."

"I love you too," Angel said. "Goodnight Lover."

Almost laughable; how she was being so nonchalant about this. "Goodbye, Angel."

He held her as she dropped off to sleep, as the monitors started to beep after a few minutes, and through the flat line until the nurses came running and pushed him away from her.

* * *

"Tom? Colliiiiins…Thomas!"

He blinked as the giggling voice he felt he hadn't heard in so long (Though it had only been a couple of months) called his name. He looked around. Well this was sure strange. Why was he in the loft? How was he in the loft? Last he'd checked he was in the hospital with Maureen staring at him in tears as his eyes closed…

Then he saw the pair of legging-clad knees resting next to his head. His eyes traveled up to rest on the face of and angel. Angel. His Angel?

"ANGEL!" He cried, shooting up. "Oh my God…am I dreaming again?" He'd had many an alcohol-and-pot-induced dream in which he talked to her.

Angel shook her head, biting her lip. She looked healthy; healthier than he'd ever seen her. Her eyes were bright and excited, her skin was a glowing caramel color, her lips were full and moist, and she had an overall look of health. "No, sweetheart. You're not."

"Well then…," Collins said, blinking. He thought no one lied in dreams; weren't they supposed to be an insight into your own subconscious or something? "Where am I?"

"I'm not sure what to call it," Angel said, looking around. "It's…I guess you could call it heaven. But it's not like heaven; at least not what they tell you heaven is supposed to be like. People don't walk around in robes and no one flies…actually, it's kind of lonely. It's been just me for a while."

"It's the loft, Angel," was what the intelligent Tom Collins chose to say. You'd have thought he'd pick up on the fact that heaven had just been mentioned, and that his _dead_ girlfriend was kneeling in front of him. But no; he'd picked up on the fact that Angel was referring to the loft strangely. "Not someplace…the loft."

"I know that," Angel giggled, poking him. "But it's…it's weird. I'm not sure." She looked back at him and whispered, "How are you feeling?"

"…Fine," Collins said with a shrug. Actually…really fine. Like he could run a marathon, do one-hundred jumping jacks, and still have the energy to teach four classes in a row. "Uhm…great, actually."

Angel grinned. "I know, right?"

"But wait, Angel…," Collins' eyes widened as what Angel had said before suddenly sunk in. "Baby…am I dead?"

"Yes, Tom, you're dead," Angel murmured, moving into his lap and kissing his chest. "I'm sorry. You…must have been really sick."

"I know that," Collins said, still shocked. "Just…wow. I'm dead."

"Yup," Angel sighed. "Sorry."

"No, no…it's okay," Collins said. "Life…it wasn't great without you anyway, babe. How long have you been waiting here?"

"Minutes," Angel said with wide eyes, a smile snaking onto her face. "Maybe a few hours. Enough time to figure out that I was dead, and realize that there's no way out of this place… And then you just kinda materialized on the floor. How long have I been dead?"

"Almost a year," Collins said.

"Hmm…interesting," Angel said.

"Yeah. Interesting," Collins snorted. "So…what now?"

"I get the feeling we're supposed to wait for something to happen," Angel said, glancing around. "But maybe that's just me. What about you?"

"The same," Collins said with interest.

And just then, something did happen. The walls faded away to make room for something…something strange. A shadowy, vast…nothingness. Nothing above, nothing to either side, and nothing, both were shocked to realize, below. They stood up, gripping hands tightly, and stared.

"I see you've been reunited, once again," said a voice behind them and Angel and Collins turned to see a bland looking man behind them, looking bored with them. "That's nice."

"…Who are you?" Angel asked with trepidation.

"As I've told you before, my name isn't important," he said.

"…We've never met you before," Collins informed. Okay, now he knew he was dreaming. He looked to Angel, who shook her head.

"You never remember anything," he groaned. "Well, whatever. Here's what you need to know – again. You're soul mates. Destined to find each other in every life. And, uhm…well, you're both dead. So…congratulations, you get to spend your time up here until the rest of your crazy friends show up and we can get with the reincarnation…That might take awhile. That Maureen girl is scheduled to live until she's about one-hundred this time around. Oh, and, sorry about the gender mix-up this time around, Angel…they didn't mean to do that. It just kind of happened. You were scheduled to go back and, well…we just couldn't find a new female life that wasn't already taken."

"Okay," Angel said with a shake of her head.

"Sit around for a few days, it'll all come to you later," the strange man said. "Past-life amnesia sometimes happens when souls die a particularly traumatic death…Just so you know, time won't go as fast as it did before. The rules are all different for soul mates, it's confusing… especially since time isn't supposed to even exist around here…"

"Wait, so we're just supposed to sit around here for an eternity and stare at the nothingness?" Angel cried. "We'll go insane!"

"First of all, there is no disease, mental or otherwise, here," the guy said. "Second, no. This is just the welcoming space. That place you were before is where you're going to be."

"Tell me it's not just gonna be us, alone, in the loft?" Collins begged.

"Again, no," their informer groaned, seeming to become fed up with their lack of knowledge on things he assumed they should know. "I guess it was in something like waiting-room mode before, when you were there! You're going to have access to the World of the Spirits, just like every other time you've been here…for God's sake…"

"…We're not in heaven, are we?" Angel asked with raised brows.

"No. You're in what we call the World of the Spirits. All of you soul mates get shoved here when you die."

"Okay," Angel agreed, not wanting to argue. "Does that mean Meems and Roger, and Jo and Mo are soul mates too?"

"Yup. And Mark and Tony; don't forget," he sighed with a roll of his eyes. "And you're in the something-group of soul mates. Like A or B. Something high. You all manage to find each other. Are you happy, can I send you back now?"

"Who's Tony?" Angel asked.

"You'll see," he sighed, before the shadows made way for the loft again.

"Uhm…that was interesting," Angel sighed after a few long minutes of silence.

"Yeah," Collins agreed. "Interesting as hell."

Angel smiled and turned her head up to his, their lips meeting in a long kiss. Collins relished it; it was like a lost man drinking water for the first time in days. "I love you. It's good to have you back, Lover."

Collins grinned. "Dontcha mean _soul mate_?"

Angel laughed and nodded. "I guess I do."

Sure, it was the end. The end of one life; certainly not the end of existence. Certainly not the end of love.

**

* * *

End Story

* * *

**

A/N: Did you like that? I couldn't make it too sad. Though I almost broke out in tears several times while writing the first part. And the second part was just something that came to me. I may write something about Angel and Collins' other lives; not sure.

Thanks for reading the three stories. I hope you liked them.

-Lynn


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